Arriving in Poland with a foamy mouth and broken bottle

I've made a brilliant entrance into Poland.
First, I was taken to the room where I'll be staying for a bit. Allison, the young Italian lady across the hall from me, was already in bed, so we shouted hellos through her closed door and vowed to meet in the morning. I began unpacking and at the same time started brushing my teeth while I worked in my room. My mouth filled up with toothpaste foam, so I decided to go to the bathroom sink to spit, but I got confused. I walked into Allison's bedroom wearing only a towel -- by mistake of course -- and made matters worse by trying to apologize with a mouth full of the toothpaste foam. Allison must have thought I was having a heart attack or something because she kept asking: Are you OK? Are you OK?  I tried to answer but foam spilled out of my mouth. Allison jumped out of bed, and hurriedly took me to the  bathroom. She was genuinely concerned. But once I spit out the toothpaste foam and rinsed out my mouth, I properly explained the situation and Allison completely understood. Now that's an understanding woman. And she didn't say a word about the fact I was nearly naked with toothpaste foam all over my mouth. Anyway, she'll get used to seeing me like that.
Second, I went to the supermarket up the street and put the most expensive beer  I could find in my basket. I was buying it to give to the family downstairs, who invited me for dinner. Long story short, the beer fell out of the basket and the glass shattered into a million pieces. The shoppers looked on in horror so I said: What the hell, I'm an American.
After all the traveling I've done, you'd think I'd be pretty good at it. You'd be thinking wrong. My trip to Poland is a good example. A staffer for JetAir in Edinburgh insisted I put my carry-on bag in the cargo hold for the flight to Amsterdam, meaning I would have to get my luggage from the carousel and then check back in through security before catching my connection flight to Poland. But a tremendous wind storm hit Amsterdam last Thursday, delaying my flight to Amsterdam by a half-hour. I was cutting it close, but could have made my connection to Poland if I didn't have to retrieve my bags and check back in. I should have held my ground with the JetAir staffer, but because of her insistence and my reluctance to draw a line in the sand, I had to sleep at the airport and take a flight to Katowice via Warsaw. She seemed like the type who would have gotten security involved.
The Amsterdam airport is cold, bright and noisy, even at 3 a.m. Police banged the chair where I was sleeping with a baton, and wanted to see my ticket. The next day, my flight to Warsaw was delayed, meaning I could have missed my connection to Katowice. I was planning to rent a car or take a train in Warsaw to get to Bielsko-Biala in southern Poland. Ugh.  Not necessary because the connection in Warsaw was also delayed. Ha ha. In the end I arrived in Kety and had a lovely dinner with my future boss Lucja.
Calls home to Phuong are difficult because Joanna is changing every day, and she doesn't care about her two-dimensional dad on Skype. She'll wave good-bye and say a few words, but she really doesn't like interacting with me through a screen. Can't blame her. And Phuong is working so hard to meet Joanna's needs, but her husband is off sleeping in airports, breaking beer bottles and walking around in a towel while foaming at the mouth.
Traveling isn't easy these days. Seeing new places and meeting new people is fascinating and loads of fun, but going through airports, waiting in lines and dealing with grumpy employees is a drag. I will go back and get Phuong, and after that I'll stay in one place for a while, regardless of the place. After all, the place isn't as important as the company we keep.